Going Dark
by r4ven3
Summary: Set early in S.10, Ruth accompanies Harry to Northern Ireland on a dark op, and that is where things begin to change between them. Self-indulgent, M-rated, AU story in 5 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Set early in S.10, before the Russians turn up …... or maybe instead of the Russians! AU.**_

_**This began as a one-shot, and then it went somewhere I hadn't planned. This is what happens when I throw self-discipline out the window, and allow my unconscious to dictate terms. M-rated pretty much all the way through.**_

* * *

_Nothing in the world is single,_

_All things by a law divine_

_In one another's being mingle -_

_Why not I with thine?_

from "_Love's Philosophy_" by Percy Bysshe Shelley

* * *

She knows that staring out the window into a black night will not bring him back any quicker. Having Harry go dark is one of Ruth's very worst nightmares. He could be being tortured, thrown into the sea, dead already, and she'd have no way of knowing. (Although deep inside herself, where she knows Harry and she are connected, she senses he is still alive. She's certain she would feel it had he died.) He'd asked her to be patient, to stay in the safe house – little more than a cabin amongst the trees on a remote farm on the west coast – and were he not back within 48 hours, she should leave, and ask Donal to drive her to the ferry in Belfast. Once she reaches Liverpool she should pick up the hire car, and drive back to London.

Except that she knows she won't. Were he to not come back within the designated time, she'll stay in Northern Ireland until she discovers where he is, and who he went out to meet. If he is dead, she will have his body taken home. She has planned this, but it is a collection of vague thoughts, nothing tangible.

She'd asked him why he'd thought bringing her here with him was a good idea. Surely two deaths would be worse than one.

"I need a cover, a plausible legend," he'd said. "Travelling as a part of a couple, we could just be on holiday, or visiting relatives. On my own I stand out. Besides, the man I'm meeting is only interested in me. So long as you remain in the cottage, you'll be fine."

He'd left just before dark. He'd stood in the open doorway, looking at her with sadness and longing in his eyes. Feelings such as these normally remain hidden while they are at work. He'd closed the door, and stepped back inside the cabin to take her face in his hands. His eyes had devoured her face, taking in every detail. "Be here when I get back," he'd whispered, before he'd kissed her lips softly and quickly, and then he'd placed his cheek against hers, only for a second or two, but long enough for her to feel the delicious rasping of his unshaved face against her own. She'd watched him leave then, wondering if the kiss had really happened. She had wanted to ask how long he thought he'd be, but hadn't wanted to sound like a nagging wife.

* * *

The bed is surprisingly comfortable. It is wide enough for three adults, and she suspects it was custom made – perhaps for two adults and two or three small children. The cabin has only one bedroom, and there is only one bed. Ruth drifts off to sleep, imagining Harry beside her, his strong hands on her body, his lips on her shoulder. Despite the circumstances, her dreams are pleasant.

* * *

She is relieved that she carries books with her wherever she goes. In her carry-all she has more books than clothes. She stokes the fire, and spends the day in front of it, since outside it is drizzling with rain. It is a Jane Austen kind of day, and she is comforted by the familiar prose, rhythmic and orderly. Harry does not appear. She cooks a meal of curry and rice, and leaves a generous portion on top of the stove, covered with a saucepan lid, for when he comes home. She has not given up hope. She goes to bed at midnight, thirty hours after Harry had left. She knows nothing of his operation, although she also knows it would take her only a short time at her computer to find out.

She likes the bed. It is warm, soft, the duvet is thick and comforting. The only missing ingredient is Harry. She lays under the covers, her eyes closed, her ears alert for any sound, any movement. Waiting is exhausting, and she falls asleep, confident in her belief that Harry is still alive, and will be coming back to her.

* * *

What seems like only minutes later, Ruth senses there is someone beside her in the bed. The mattress dips, and she is no longer lying in the middle. Her breathing quietens, and she turns her head to see Harry's bulk lying under the duvet. On his breath she smells the curry she had left for him, and as she adjusts her eyes to the dark, she sees that his eyes are open, and he is looking at her.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi. I have a confession to make," he says quietly.

There is a wide space between their bodies, and Ruth wishes she had the courage to slide across to be closer to him. "Tell me," she says, copying his quiet tone.

"I brought you with me for a reason."

"Which is?"

"So that when I got back – if I got back – you'd be here waiting for me."

"I'm glad," is all she can say. Her heart rate has just doubled, and here heartbeat thumps in her ears. "Is that the only reason you brought me?"

"No. There's this also."

Harry lifts himself on to his elbow, and reaches across the space between them to place his lips on hers. Without thinking too much about it, Ruth slides her arms around his neck and draws him closer. His kiss is gentle at first, and then he unleashes his hunger for her. He inches his body towards her until they are lying side by side, their chests and hips flush. He has found his way under her pyjama top, and he is sliding his hand over her skin. As his fingertips reach the mound of her breast, he moans into her mouth, and then pulls away from her.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I didn't mean to manhandle you, Ruth. It's just that ….."

"I know, Harry. Look, I think we should just sleep for now. It's been an emotional couple of days for us both."

"You look disappointed."

"I am," she says, smiling across at him. He has removed his hand from under her top, and she misses its warmth, and the surprisingly gentle touch of his fingers. "I was enjoying that. I'd forgotten how …... good ….. it feels to ….."

"I know, but do you understand why I stopped?"

"Yes, Harry, I do. I suspect you need to debrief first."

He nods, and rolls on to his back. "It's tempting having you here. I didn't bring you here for sex. Not that I don't want …... because I do."

Ruth _is_ disappointed, but she knows that sex immediately after a dangerous operation is like drunken sex, or angry sex. She and Harry deserve better than that.

"And I want to make love to you, Ruth," he says, staring at the ceiling, "just not like this. Back in London -"

"If you can wait until we're back home, then so can I."

Ruth soon falls asleep, but Harry lies awake for a long time. He wishes he'd been able to continue where he was going with her, but it wouldn't have been fair. His body really needs the release, but he considers it a dishonourable act to empty himself into the woman he loves only hours after he'd taken someone's life. He considers getting up and going to another room to masturbate, but he falls asleep before he acts upon the thought.

* * *

When Harry wakes it is still dark. He has again moved close to Ruth, and his arm is around her, his fingers touching her over her pyjamas, but dangerously close to her pubic bone. Just a twist of his wrist, and he could touch her, and make her wet and ready for him. He is rock hard, and his erection is nestled against her buttocks. It takes every ounce of self control for him to not push himself against her, hoping she'll turn to open herself to him. His face is almost against her neck, and with the smallest of movements, he could run his tongue along the curve of her neck. He is sure she is still asleep, and as much as he wants her in this moment, he mustn't act on it. He mustn't. To do so could destroy them before they'd even begun.

Slowly and carefully he turns away from Ruth, and leaves the bed, pulling the duvet up to her shoulders. He has to meet Jim Leary at the farmhouse at 8am, and he needs to wash first. He heads to the bathroom, and while under the primitive, but functional shower, he soaps his hand and jerks off. He climaxes quickly, eyes closed, imagining Ruth naked beneath him, and he has to push his free forearm over his mouth to silence his cries. He experiences a deep and bone-shaking orgasm, but it is not a happy release. As with every other time he has taken the life of another, along with the primal pleasure, the guilt surfaces. The man he'd killed may be scum, but he has a mother, a sister, and a teenage son. He carries guilt for the loss they have yet to endure.

Once he is dressed, he writes a note to Ruth, and slips it under the kettle. He knows he'll be given a hearty breakfast at the farmhouse. Donal's wife has always been an excellent cook.

From the bedroom, Ruth hears the click of the door as it closes. She'd woken while he was in the shower. She'd even heard him masturbate – and she knew he had tried to silence his cries while he came. She'd experienced a moment of regret that she'd not been in the shower with him, perhaps helping him to release his pent up tension. When he'd re-entered the bedroom to dress, she'd feigned sleep.

They were safe for now. It would be their time once they were back in London. She has that to look forward to.


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Thank you to all who have read and reviewed. I hope you continue to enjoy._**

* * *

Back on the Grid, they each have a lot of work to catch up on. Ruth has a pile of intel to plough through, and Harry has meetings for three straight days. By Friday evening, their workload has plateaued.

"Can I take you to dinner?"

Ruth had not heard him approach, and his mouth is very close to her ear as he bends over her. Ruth looks around her to see an empty Grid, empty all but for she and Harry. She sits back in her chair and flexes her shoulder blades, and then he assists her to her feet with a hand under her elbow. She places her hands on her hips and stretches. "I'd like that," she says, surprised by her own preparedness to go along with whatever he suggests. To blithely go along with Harry's suggestions has not been her habit, but then there was Northern Ireland, and while there, _they_ had changed. In that moment, she realises how much she trusts him …... despite everything. "But can we eat in? I'd be much more comfortable with that."

"So long as you trust me to cook for you, Ruth."

"I accompanied you to Northern Ireland, not knowing what I was letting myself in for, so to eat a meal cooked by you is easy by comparison."

Harry stands close to her while he helps her into her coat. She looks up at him, and watches as he leans towards her, but is surprised when he doesn't kiss her. They walk from the Grid, his hand on her back all the way. Ruth is aware of the movement of his body beside her, just as he must be aware of hers.

He had called his driver, and they are driven back to his house in quiet comfort. Harry's hand rests between them on the seat, and in what is for her a bold gesture, Ruth places her hand over his. She looks up at him, and finds him staring at her. He then looks down at their hands, and turns his around so that their fingers are entwined. He takes their entwined hands, and rests them on his thigh. Ruth sees this as an act of intimacy, and again, she recognises that she trusts him like she trusts no-one else. They see no need for speaking. Harry rubs his thumb along Ruth's knuckles, while she slides her middle finger back and forth along his inner thigh. She senses his breathing change as their bodies vibrate in a language they both understand.

Ruth realises that they have not talked about this new-found closeness of theirs. They have not discussed the wisdom or otherwise of spending private time alone together, because they both know that such a discussion will give rise to doubts and reasons why not, and neither wish to think about that. They like things as they are, and they will continue as they are, moving forward towards something new between them, something fresh and unplanned. They are making this up as they go along. It's just that what has drawn them together this time has been their shared experience of killing another. Ruth tries to push that thought away. It will not help at all for her to see them reflected through that darkest of all prisms.

Harry fumbles with the door lock, and then presses the security code into the number pad, before he removes his coat and then his jacket, and drapes them over the balustrade at the bottom of the stairs. Ruth senses that he is holding back, that he's suppressing a desire to push her against the wall, the door, on the stairs, anywhere, and sink himself into her. Harry's pupils are dilated, and his jaw is tight. She quickly glances down his body to see that he has an erection, and he is making no attempt to hide it.

"Harry," she says, as she removes her own coat, and drapes it next to his on the balustrade, "are you alright? Is there anything I can do?"

"There is indeed, Ruth, but I'm determined to wait until we've at least eaten." He shows her to the sitting room before he strides off to the kitchen. "I'll open some wine," he says as he walks through the doorway to the kitchen.

Ruth stays in the sitting room on her own for a while, sipping her white wine. She is used to spending time on her own, so she is not troubled that her dinner companion is in one room while she is in another. It is only when he calls out to her, asking her if she'd like a top up that she takes her glass into the kitchen to join him. She hopes that the fifteen minutes they have spent apart has been sufficient for him to calm down, and to bring his desires under control. The last thing they need now, Ruth thinks, is a quick fuck against the wall. She has had fantasies about she and Harry, and what their first time might be like. She can't remember a time when she hasn't harboured hidden desires about having sex with Harry. It's just that any time that has looked likely to happen, she has run from it. Now she has seen more, done more, lost so much, she could not bear to lose Harry as well. She'd have sex with him against a wall if that's what he wanted, but she'd prefer a warm bed with clean sheets, and so, she suspects, would he.

Their dinner is punctuated with desultory conversation, and murmurs of approval, as well as covert glances at one another. Ruth can feel the air around them igniting, so at the risk of blowing their evening apart, she says something she'd wanted to say since Harry came back from his operation in Ireland.

"Do you need to tell me about it, Harry? Northern Ireland. Is there anything I should know?"

He looks across at her, surprised that she has been brave enough to ask. "The less you know about it, the better. I don't want you to be endangered as a result of accompanying me. Needless to say, I killed a man. He was a bad man, but he had family. He even had a fourteen-year-old son. I can't help but feel bad whenever I am responsible for robbing people of their loved ones."

"You forget that I've also killed a man."

"I hadn't forgotten that, Ruth. I suppose I felt able to ask you to accompany me, hoping you wouldn't judge me for taking a life, because if it hadn't been his life, it would have been my own …... and you know how that feels."

She nods in reply, taking a sip of her wine, while he watches her from across the table. They are both remembering Keith Deery, and how Ruth had had to shoot Rigaut, the French assassin, in order to save herself and Deery, although whether Deery had been saved or not was still a moot point.

"I heard you, Harry. I heard you that morning you went out to be debriefed. I heard you in the shower."

He breaks eye contact, perhaps embarrassed, she's not sure. "I'm sorry. I tried to be quiet. I had to …..."

"I know, Harry. I know you needed to be cleansed – from the inside as well as out. But I could have ….."

"No, Ruth, it wouldn't have been right for you to do that. Besides, I'm used to …... taking care of myself."

They both know that he means he's used to doing more for himself than his own washing, and preparing his own meals.

"Harry, I'd like to …... I'd like to ….. go upstairs with you. Now."

He looks up at her, his surprise evident. "I'd like that too, Ruth." He sighs heavily, smiling at her. "I'd really like that, but perhaps we need to clear the dinner things first."

Ruth smiles to herself, at this man who demands a sense of order in his personal life, even after the woman he has longed to make love to, has even asked to marry him, has propositioned him. She stands to help him clear the table. Their shoulders brush deliciously as they walk past one another. They resist a powerful urge to maintain eye contact. It is just too dangerous. Ruth is reaching across the table to gather the cutlery, and she feels his body close behind her, his thighs against hers, his groin at her hips. It is only when she stands up that he slips his arms around her, and kisses her just beneath her left ear. She holds her breath, afraid she'll drop the handful of cutlery, as his hands find their way to her breasts, and he holds her that way, his body against hers, his face in her hair. "Harry, we have to …..." and she is prevented from saying any more as he turns her around, and kisses her on the mouth. His kiss is deep and hungry, the same way he'd kissed her when he'd returned to the cabin in Northern Ireland, and she knows that they will do no more clearing up that night.

She puts a hand on his chest and pushes him away from her. "I just need to put these down somewhere," she says, showing him her handful of cutlery.

He steps away from her, taking the cutlery, and putting it in the dishwasher with all their other dishes. She stands close to him as he turns the dial on the dishwasher for it to begin its cycle.

"Happy now?" he says, smiling down at her.

She nods, reaching for him. He walks her towards the kitchen counter, and lifts her so that she sits on the edge, and he positions himself between her knees. She meets his mouth with her own, as his hands move up her legs, and under her skirt. Ruth is lost in the kiss. It is a passionate, devouring kiss, and she is becoming less and less aware of her surroundings. It is just her and Harry, Harry and her, and nothing else in the world matters. One of his hands stops as it reaches half-way along her thigh, and his thumb begins caressing her inner thigh, while the other hand keeps going. It is only when she feels his fingers at the edge of her knickers, slipping under the material to touch her wetness, that she pulls away from him.

"As lovely as this is, Harry," she manages to say between kisses, between his fingers touching her and then pulling back, slipping inside her, and then pulling out. "We need to go upstairs. I'm not doing this …... here."

Harry pulls away from her and looks at her. His hair is awry, his face is flushed, his pupils dilated, and he is breathing too heavily to speak.

"Upstairs?" she repeats, hoping he still understands the spoken word.

Harry sighs heavily, and nods.


	3. Chapter 3

They stumble up the stairs, taking longer than they should, stopping frequently to kiss and touch one another. Ruth finds that Harry enjoys it when she places open-mouthed kisses on his neck, or at the base of his throat, flicking her tongue over his skin. He appears to enjoy her hand wandering over his body, with only his shirt separating her skin from his. He also really loves it when she touches him where his erection strains against his trousers, but she is not surprised by that. Ruth has not yet met a man who doesn't enjoy being touched there. When they at last reach the landing – with only a few yards to go to reach Harry's bedroom – they stop for a major snog. Harry pushes his hands under her skirt and grasps her buttocks, slipping his fingers under the elastic of her knickers so that his hands grasp bare skin. Their bodies grind against the other, and Ruth barely suppresses a moan as Harry's fingers glide all over her buttocks, his palms pressing her body flush against his groin. She pulls away from him slightly, still lip-locked, to pass her fingertips, feather-like, down the length of his erection, and he growls from deep in his throat.

"Christ, Ruth, you'll be the death of me," he says, once her fingers have finished their journey along his length. "Now, where's my bloody bedroom?"

After Harry has turned on a bedside lamp, they fall on to his bed fully clothed,. "Not too bright for you?" he asks.

"Just perfect," Ruth replies, pulling him towards her to enable her to place more soft kisses on his neck. As she does so, with one hand she opens the buttons of his shirt, his tie having been discarded while he was making dinner. She begins to undo his belt, when his hands stop her.

"This isn't going to be just some shag, Ruth. You do know that, don't you?"

She looks at him to see his eyes on her, waiting for her answer, for her to show understanding.

"I wouldn't be here if I thought you wanted me for a casual shag, Harry. Had it been, you would have pinned against the wall when first we arrived home."

He nods, smiling at her. "True. I had difficulty keeping my hands to myself. Ever since Northern Ireland, I …..."

Ruth puts her finger on his lips and stops him mid-sentence. "Enough yammering, Harry. I'm not here with you in your bedroom for you to be showing off your conversational skills."

"I know. I just wanted you to know."

"I know you did, and I love you for it."

They both show surprise at her words. Neither has ever openly expressed love for the other – at least, not using words. She watches him closely, gauging his reaction.

Harry is so much better with actions than with words, so he very carefully reaches over and kisses her softly, savouring her lips with his own. It is the gentlest, most deliberate action he has initiated since they'd arrived home an hour and a half earlier. This is his answer to Ruth's slip up, her declaration of love. Ruth knows that in his own way, Harry loves her, perhaps a little too much, but that kiss seals it for her. It is his way of saying `me too'. He pulls away from her a little, his eyes holding hers. _There it is,_ she thinks …... _in his eyes, his beautiful, hazel eyes, is love_ …. an openness rarely seen in Harry at work, and only occasionally witnessed by her in their private moments. They continue to hold the gaze of the other, perhaps fearing that a moment such as this may not come their way again.

This time it is Ruth who breaks the moment between them, as she closes the gap between them, initiating a kiss, a deep and deliberate, exploratory kiss. Harry, again acknowledging the powerful drives of his body, slips his hands under Ruth's skirt, and pushes down her knickers until they are around her knees. He explores her folds, the warmth between her legs. Once he finds her clitoris, she opens her legs, and he begins stroking her slowly with his thumb, while he dips his fingers inside her. Ruth stops unzipping his trousers, and rolls on to her back, her eyes closed, her busy hands stilled. With his free hand, Harry opens her blouse, and lifts her bra, and loves her breast with his lips, his tongue and his teeth. Ruth comes twice in quick succession, before she sinks into the pillow and sighs, her body relaxed.

Harry pulls off his trousers and his trunks, kicking them off the end of the bed, and then slides down the bed to place his mouth over Ruth's sweetness. He laps her clitoris, and then slides his tongue into her, treasuring every moment, should he need to remember this some time in the future, perhaps on his deathbed.

"Harry," she says weakly, running her hands over his hair, "_please_."

Things are moving towards coupling much faster than he had planned, and he has no way of slowing them down. He _should_ slow them down, but he is not truly motivated to do so. His body is straining under the pressure of the years they have taken to get to this place together, and his own intense state of arousal. He hesitates only for a moment, unable to formulate a stalling strategy, not wanting to slow this down, not even for a second. This is Ruth, and he's wanted this for so long, for years …... ever since they'd been to dinner five years earlier. His thoughts are muddled, his only clear thought being how soon he can be inside her, and would she prefer him to slip inside her slowly, or to jam himself in quickly, before she changes her mind. He decides on the former strategy. He suddenly realises that in his head he is sounding like a fifteen-year-old virgin, trying to get his end away with the prettiest girl in school, the one all the lads lust after, and brag about having nailed. Here he is – bloody Harry Pearce, hopeless with women – about to make love to the woman he has wanted for over five years, and he's having first-night nerves.

Harry takes a deep breath and slowly breathes out again. He is now focused …... focused and ready.

She has no need to ask again. Harry hovers above her, having pushed her skirt out the way until it is gathered around her waist, and he slides into her easily, settling himself inside her. In the brief moment while he waits to begin making love to her, he is grateful for his self control, his decision to not make love to her when they were together in Northern Ireland. He had been so wired in the aftermath of the killing, he would surely have come the moment he'd entered her, and that would not have been a good way for them to have begun their intimate life. He'd been high on adrenalin, fear, guilt, relief, and a reasonable dose of testosterone …... a dangerous combination for a man of his age, and difficult for him to rein in.

When he feels Ruth lifting her pelvis, he begins moving inside her. He takes his time, revelling in making love to Ruth at last. She watches him, her eyes open, but sometimes closing as she sighs with pleasure. She holds him by his buttocks, and pulls him into her deeply. Harry is surprised by how much she appears to be into this ….. into _him_. He'd tried so hard for so long to get closer to her, and had only ever been met with brick walls. He begins to feel the tingling and the pressure build-up which tells him he is about to come, so he pushes inside her harder and faster until he climaxes. Seeing Ruth still out on a limb, he reaches between them and strokes her clitoris, so that her muscles contract around him, and his already deflating penis is pushed out of her.

They collapse beside one another and quickly fall sleep, both still wearing some of the clothes they'd worn during the day.

* * *

When Harry wakes to hear the shower running, it is still dark. His first thought, as he runs his hand over his bare chest, is a memory of their love-making the night before. His head is spinning with the memory of it, the sensations, the resultant laziness and looseness of his body. He hopes that Ruth enjoyed it as much as he had. He hopes that her showering this early in the morning is a not a prelude to her leaving. They'd not talked afterwards, and he thinks now that perhaps they should have. He looks around him, taking in the state of his clothing – or lack of it – and decides that he also could do with a shower. He rolls out of bed, removing his shirt, the only clothing he still wears. He remembers that as they'd fallen asleep last night, apart from her knickers, which he had pulled off her, Ruth had been fully clothed. Hopefully next time – and he hopes there will be a next time – he'll have the patience to allow her time to undress.

Inside the shower, Ruth luxuriates under the hottest water she can tolerate. Her body is more sensitive than usual, and she can feel where Harry has been – inside her, as well as on her skin. Her left nipple is a little sore where he'd bitten it, and she smiles at the memory, stroking her fingers over the nipple, watching it harden. She feels a slight cooling in the air behind her back as Harry slides opens the shower door and joins her.

"Good morning," he says, stepping behind her, and wrapping his arms around her.

"Good morning to you too," she replies, leaning back and letting her body relax against him. He feels _so_ good. Ruth slides her hands up and down the outside of his thighs, and he dips his head to kiss her beneath her ear.

Ruth turns in Harry's embrace, and her breath catches as she sees the adoring look in his eyes. "I meant it when I said I love you," she says quietly, kissing him quickly on the mouth.

"I know you did, Ruth, and I love you. I have loved you for so long. I was sure you already knew."

It was so easy for him to say those words to her, under the shower, with her soft skin against his, the shower spraying water over them, their bodies loose from their loving only hours earlier. It is so easy, and he can't understand why he hasn't spoken them to her before this. There was the time he almost did, and she told him to not say it, but that is the closest he's ever been to declaring himself to her. Until now. He's surprised by how calm he feels, how easy it was to say what they both already knew, and how saying those words to the woman he loves is freeing, rather than restricting. He has told Ruth that he loves her, and it has made him feel free.

Harry pulls her close to him, and embraces her, and Ruth holds him around his waist, running her palm up and down his back. This is the first time she has felt his penis soft, as it nestles against her stomach. Ruth smiles to herself. They sway slightly as they are showered in water just a little too hot to be comfortable.

"Christ, Ruth," Harry says after some time, "your shoulders are red. How about I turn the hot down, or the cold up?"

"How about we dry ourselves and go back to bed?"

He pulls back from her, and looks at her, smiling widely. "To sleep, or …...?"

"I think a little `or' would be nice."

"Ruth …... I hadn't expected you to be so ….."

"Keen? Wanton?"

"Keen will do. I haven't even needed to employ any of the time-tested Pearce seduction techniques."

"As curious as I am about them, Harry," Ruth says between kissing him, "you and I have little need for seduction techniques, time-tested or otherwise."

When Harry joins her in bed after he has finished his shower, Ruth moves her body close to him for a cuddle. He folds his arms around her and draws her closer, smiling into the darkness. He'd been worrying unnecessarily. She's not about to leave him, and he is opening himself to the possibility that together, he and Ruth could find happiness.

"Do you know why I agreed to accompany you to Northern Ireland?"

Harry has been enjoying their cuddle, and had been unsure about the right moment to move from cuddling to something more. He looks at Ruth and shakes his head.

"I wanted to be with you in case you didn't come back. I wanted to …... demonstrate to you how much you mean to me. Had you died, I wanted you to know that I cared enough for you to be with you."

"And we demonstrate so much better than we say, don't we, Ruth?"

She nods. "I'm glad I went with you, Harry. What I saw in your eyes when you came back to the cabin …... that was how I felt after …..."

"I know, Ruth. And despite what I've said otherwise, I wanted you with me for similar reasons. If I was walking to my death, the person I wanted to be saying goodbye to was you."

"I know."

"And more than anything," he continues quietly, "I wanted to have you with me because you represent everything that is good in my life. I need reminding of that sometimes. Something good to cancel out the evil deeds." He allows his voice to fade, realising that he is handing over a responsibility to Ruth that she should not be expected to bear. It is too much to expect her to be forever the shining beacon, so that whenever he disappears into the darkest of shadows, she will be there for him, she will light his way home.

They lay for several minutes in silence. Neither had expected this turn of events. Harry can feel tension in Ruth's body, as he lies against her, his arms around her.

"Harry," she says at last, "can I tell you about the shooting? When I shot Rigaut."

He turns to face her, and notices for the first time a look on her face he's only seen in the faces of others who have killed, and on his own face in the mirror after he'd killed someone. He relaxes his hold on her, giving her the space to speak.

"Take your time, Ruth. I'm not going anywhere."


	4. Chapter 4

Ruth takes almost an hour to relate her own story of having taken the life of another. She has spoken about it to no-one in the months since it had happened. She has hoped that were she to ignore it, imagine it had never happened, that her memories of it would simply fade, and ultimately leave her, so that if she were ever to reflect on the events of that day, she would feel nothing – no pain, no shouting and screaming in her head, no fear, no regret, and absolutely no guilt.

Of course, the opposite has been true. It has never left her, sitting at the back of her throat, waiting to tumble out of her with all its ugliness and horror ….. so sudden, so terrifying, and so, _so_ loud. From the moment Harry had returned to the cabin in Northern Ireland after having killed a man, it has been slowly crawling into her mouth from her throat, until she could no longer deny its existence. Once she begins talking about it, it is like vomiting; she can't stop. When she speaks the words: _I felt I had no choice if I wanted to survive, and Harry – I did want to survive_, there is no stopping her.

The more she tells him, the more animated she becomes, and that shadow Ruth – the Ruth who had returned to the Grid after George's death – slowly fades from view, and the Ruth he'd always known and loved, the Ruth whom he remembers as being bright and optimistic and energetic and quirky, begins, little by little, to re-emerge. Harry has let go of her, and moved a little away from her so that he can see her face. He has needed to give her the space to talk animatedly, with her hands. By the time her tears ease, and she has told him all she'd wanted him to know, the slight glow behind the curtains announces dawn, and the beginning of a fresh new day.

Harry again draws Ruth close to him while intermittent sobs escape her. These are sobs of relief, not pain. She holds her hands under her chin, and her knees are bent beneath the duvet. She lays in the foetal position, with Harry's arms around her shoulders. He knows what it had taken for her to open up to him. He loves her for it, his strong and brave Ruth, a woman much stronger than he could ever be.

After a long time, when her sobbing has stopped, and her body has relaxed, he reaches down and kisses her. It is a brief, closed-mouth touch of his lips on hers, but it seems to be what she has been waiting for. She turns her body so that she is looking up at him.

"Thank you, Harry. Thank you for listening. I couldn't have said any of this the morning after …... at the hospital."

"I know."

"I was so shut down then. I felt nothing. First there was George, then there was Jo, and then there was Rigaut. It was too much too soon. Too much death, and in my mind, I'd believed that I'd killed them all. I think that in going to Northern Ireland with you I was forced to face my demons. That first evening when you kissed me goodbye, I was so frightened that you were going to your death, and that had you died it would be another death on my conscience. Harry, it was …..."

Harry tightens his arms around her, and kisses her cheek, wanting to keep her close to him forever, to protect her, to ensure she is always safe. At the same time, he knows that to be impossible, as well as unfair. He doesn't own her.

"I'd really like to sleep some more, Harry. I feel exhausted. I'd like you to hold me while I sleep."

So they nestle under the duvet together, their naked bodies close, Harry's arms around her, and with her head on his shoulder. They both sleep, and as the day begins outside the bedroom window, they are safe under the duvet – together – in Harry's house. Nothing that happened the day Ruth had shot Rigaut, or Harry had shot Mickey Campbell could touch them. By the time they wake just after eleven, they are refreshed, and ready to start anew.

* * *

"Shouldn't we be at work?" she asks him over a very late breakfast.

"I have a confession to make. I arranged for you and me to have a free weekend. In my mind we were going to spend 48 hours in bed, a regular shag-fest. I hadn't planned for what has happened."

"Nor had I, Harry. Are you disappointed?"

"Why should I be disappointed?"

"We've only made love once. Hardly a …... shag-fest."

"If you're happy to stay here with me until Monday morning, we have plenty of time to work on the numbers …... not that it's all about the numbers, mind you."

"I'll need to go home some time today to get more clothes."

"I can take you home later. And then bring you back here, of course. That is, if you want to. I don't want to presume -"

"Harry, I want to. I'm here of my own volition." Ruth smiles at him over her tea cup. "I enjoy being with you in this way. I think of you as being something of a lone wolf, revelling in your own company."

"That's only because you wouldn't have a bar of me until now. I'm not by nature a loner. Was it Northern Ireland that changed your mind?"

"About you?"

"Yes."

"Mostly, yes, although it was other things as well. I saw time passing for us. I saw us spending time apart, precious time. Every time I'd get home from work after a long day on the Grid, I'd wonder what it would be like to have you at home with me, even if only to have someone to talk to."

"You underestimate me, Ruth."

"Not any more. Then there was Northern Ireland, and for the first time, I realised I could lose you. It was real and it terrified me. I no longer saw a reason to hold you at arm's length."

Ruth busies herself with buttering another slice of toast, and then covering it with honey. As she eats it, Harry watches her. _God, I love this woman so much_. He watches as she wipes a finger over her chin, and then with the back of her hand wipes a dob of honey from the end of her nose. When he sees a swipe of honey above her top lip, he can stay seated no longer. He stands, and walks quickly to her side. They are both dressed in bathrobes and nothing else. Harry is wearing his favourite burgundy bathrobe, while Ruth wears the royal blue one, the one which only falls to Harry's knees, so apart from the sleeves being too long, it is a perfect fit for Ruth.

He leans down and licks her face – the end of her nose, her chin, her top lip, and just for good measure, her bottom lip. Once he has feasted, Ruth feeds him chunks of honeyed toast, which he scoffs down between stolen kisses. His hands are clean, and so he slides them through the opening in Ruth's bathrobe, and teases her most sensitive spots – her nipples, her throat, the skin of her lower abdomen, and lastly, the delicate skin on her inside thighs. To counter his hand attack, Ruth wipes his face and neck with her hands, sticky with honey, and it's game on.

Harry lifts her from her chair, and with dextrous sleight of hand, he quickly unties each of their robes using only one hand, before he presses himself against her. He is already half hard. He closes his eyes, enjoying the skin on skin contact, slowly rubbing himself against her abdomen. What he doesn't see is Ruth reach around behind her to dip her fingers into the honey jar. Seeing his eyes closed, she firstly kisses his mouth softly, and then pulls away from him just enough to be free to wipe a streak of honey from his throat, down the middle of his chest to his navel. She then feasts on the honey, running her tongue from his navel up to his throat.

Harry is gazing at her, pure love for her in his eyes, so he misses it when she reaches behind her for more honey. This time, her eyes holding his, she reaches between them, and slides her honeyed fingers along the length of his penis, encircling him, ensuring that he is fully honey-covered. Harry gasps and pulls away slightly, before he looks down to see the results of Ruth's work.

"You'll have to lick that off," he says playfully.

"_This_," she says, rubbing her fingers all over his penis, "is what is called a honey trap. Do you like it?"

Harry's wide smile is enough of an answer, and so Ruth bends down to take him in her mouth, and by this time he is fully erect. Harry's hands are free from honey, so he grasps her shoulders as she takes him in her mouth and flicks her tongue over the tip. He leans back, groaning, fighting the urge to push himself further into her mouth. He pulls away slightly, aware that it wouldn't take much for him to be emptying himself into her mouth.

"Ruth," he manages to say, "Ruth …... stop."

She stops, and still with part of him in her mouth, she looks up, confused. Harry pulls her away from her, and lifts her to her feet.

"Darling, as much as I love what you're doing, I have no intention of coming in your mouth. It's not fair."

He sees the look of disappointment on her face, and wonders momentarily if he is always going to be disappointing her.

"I was enjoying that, Harry. I enjoy giving pleasure to the man I love."

He realises then that he's probably made the wrong move, and he needed to have allowed her to take the lead. He doesn't know how to fix this, and his honey-covered erection is fast diminishing as well.

"Harry, you have to trust me. I enjoy being with you. I enjoy _you_. I _wanted_ to do that for you. It was fun for me, and I know it was for you also."

He takes her hand and with the words, `come with me', he leads her upstairs to the bathroom. He turns on the shower, and adjusts the temperature so that the water is warm rather than hot, and pulls Ruth's bathrobe from her shoulders, having discarded his own at the bottom of the stairs. He pulls her under the water with him, and closes the sliding glass door behind them. Under the water, he pulls her into his arms and kisses her, a long and deep and hungry kiss. "I love you," he says quietly into her mouth, "and I don't expect you – or even want you – to be serving me."

Ruth pulls her head back so that she can see his face. "I get it, Harry. I know what you're saying, but we're not at work now."

It is almost as though she has slapped him. Harry drops his arms from around her, but holds one of her hands in his. "You think I'm being your boss?"

"That's how it feels to me. You like to be in control, Harry. That's what you do at work, and you do it very well. You met me at work, so it stands to reason you'd want to be in control in our relationship."

"But Ruth …... _shit_ …... I've never been in control of _this_ …." With his free hand, he indicates the two of them. "I've wanted this for …... years …... and I've had to wait for you to …... want me ….. as much as I want you."

This is a moment between them, a moment like they had in Northern Ireland, when they knew that they were there together for so much more than keeping the other company. Ruth looks down, as much to break eye contact as anything else.

"I need you to trust me, Harry. You trust me at work, so why not here?"

"Okay, but I'm still not comfortable with you giving me oral sex before I've pleasured you."

Ruth smiles at the term, `pleasured', such a polite, old-fashioned term. Hopefully, some time soon, Harry will be comfortable saying something like, `sucked you off'. She knows he is not shy or unnecessarily polite when in male-only company.

"I get it now, Harry, I do, and I agree with you. You want us to have equal pleasure."

He nods, and in his eyes Ruth can see fear. It is the fear of someone who is afraid of rejection, afraid she will leave him, afraid she is – at this very moment, as a result of what just happened downstairs - contemplating walking away from him. It suddenly occurs to her that Harry was not bossing her around. He was simply being a gentleman, acting in a caring and gentlemanly manner. She steps close to him again, and wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head under his chin. "I love you, Harry. I am not about to walk away from you just because you were being decent."

Ruth feels his murmur of pleasure in his chest, and she hugs him to her, as once again his arms slide around her, drawing her closer.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: This is the last chapter. I hoped you've enjoyed reading it. I've had a lot of fun writing it. Thanks to all who have read, and for the reviews.**_

* * *

After they've showered and dried each other, they slide under the duvet and hold one another close. It had perhaps been a crisis for them, but one which has been – thankfully - short-lived. Ruth realises, as she lays her cheek against Harry's shoulder, that it so easily could have escalated out of their control. She is relieved that she had felt so relaxed, having painted his body with honey, that she hadn't thought to be outraged.

"Harry, I need you to tell me what you like. I need to know that, as well as what you don't like."

"Rather than giving you a shopping list of my likes, Ruth, perhaps that's something we can discover along the way. After all, we're still rather new to this."

"Speak for yourself, Harry. I thought you were a serial womaniser in your youth."

There is a moment of silence, during which Ruth waits for Harry to answer her. In that moment, she wishes she could take back her words.

"I'm s-sorry." she stammers. "That was out of order."

"Maybe," he whispers, "but it's true also. You have no reason to fear I'll be doing that to you, Ruth. I sowed my fair share of wild oats long ago. I'm no longer that man." Harry shifted a little in the bed, lying back against his pillow, but still taking Ruth with him. "What I meant was that _we_ are new at this …... together. I haven't been with anyone else for years. I haven't wanted to, and if I can be faithful to you even when we were not having sex, then I think I can manage that for the rest of our lives."

There is another silence, as they both contemplate Harry's words. He'd thrown that particular bomb into the building without thinking, and he waits for Ruth's reaction. There isn't one. He'd expected her to accuse him of being `presumptuous, as usual', but she has says nothing, perhaps contemplating the meaning of `for the rest of our lives' in all its many and varied permutations. It was hardly an ambiguous statement. She cannot have misunderstood it. As usual, Ruth surprises him.

She waits a little while before she speaks, completely ignoring Harry's statement about their future together. "If I understand you, Harry," she says carefully, "you enjoy oral sex as much as the next man, but you will only accept it after you've given me at least one orgasm."

"Something like that, yes, although I don't want us to get hung up on counting our orgasms," he replies, relieved that she's not angry. "When I was younger, it didn't much matter, but Ruth, I'm fifty-seven years old, and if I can manage to make love once a day I'm doing really well. Once I climax, that's it for at least another few hours, maybe longer. Ten years ago I had more stamina. It's one of the downsides of aging ….. for men, at least."

"I get it, Harry, I do, and thank you for explaining it."

They move to lie close to one another again, but this time, instead of putting her arm around Harry's waist, Ruth begins feathering her fingertips across his belly. He feels her fingers circling his skin in ever-increasing circles. To Harry, the simple touch of her fingertips on the skin of his belly is highly erotic, but then again, he perceives eroticism in almost everything she does. While they are at work, he has sometimes watched her sipping tea from a cup, and has had to remain seated for a while, waiting for his body to settle down. Harry can barely believe that this Ruth – the Ruth who is drawing circles on his body, inching closer and closer to his erogenous zones (although, at this moment in time, most of his skin is an erogenous zone) – is the same Ruth who ran from him – yes, _ran_ – in the corridor at the Havensworth Hotel all those years ago. He remembers her eyes on the skin he'd exposed when he'd removed his tie and opened the top few shirt buttons. Those were the eyes of a woman who was interested in his body …... perhaps more than interested, although he still has little idea what it is she's ever seen in him, battered and beaten and old as he is. He can remember his brief moment of hope, dashed so suddenly when she hurried back to her room, with a curt `Goodnight Harry' over her shoulder. That Ruth, that scared and overwhelmed Ruth, is the same woman who is, at this moment, preparing them both for sex …... and she's not even being subtle about it. Her eyes are moving between the path of her fingers and his own eyes. She is watching for his reaction. _Jesus Christ, Ruth! What do you think my reaction is going to be?_

Ruth's finger-circling eventually has her touching his nipples – just the slightest of touches – and then on the other side of the circle, she reaches his pubic hair. It is clear to him now that it is time for him to act.

Harry rolls over until he is hovering over her, carrying his weight on his elbows. He reaches down and kisses her, at the same time as he rubs his half-erect penis against her thigh. Ruth opens her mouth to him, and puts one hand on his side, and with her other, she reaches down and takes his penis, now filling out rapidly, and slides her fingers lightly along its length. Harry moans contentedly into her mouth, before rolling them both on to their sides. This way he has a hand free to slip his fingers inside her while his mouth journeys from her neck down to her breasts, as Ruth's hand is now busily massaging him to full hardness.

It is not long before he is ready to push himself inside her, but he doesn't wish to act too soon. He believes she's ready for him, but he can't be sure. "Ruth?" he says, looking at her.

"Harry, if you I don't feel you inside me within ten seconds, I'll have to find another lover."

He doesn't ask questions. He reckons it takes him no more than three or four seconds after she'd spoken before he'd lifted himself above her and is half inside her. When he looks at her again, her eyes are closed, and she is smiling. He'd worried that there hadn't been enough foreplay for her, but she seems contented, so if Ruth is happy, then so is he. When she lifts her pelvis to him, he buries himself deeper, and when she says `faster, Harry', he obeys. He needs to trust her - in the bedroom, as well as at work.

Ruth surprises him with her confidence in the bedroom. He hadn't expected that. He had expected that he'd have to take the lead, make all the decisions, check if she is alright with this, and with that, and yet that is just not the case. He thrusts deeper, and faster, and he can feel her muscles beginning to contract around him, her breathing quickening, and she is beginning to vocalise. It is when she cries out his name, a strangled, animal cry, that he knows he is about to climax. He speeds up his strokes until he fears he may spontaneously combust, the heat between their bodies is so high. His own orgasm is deep and powerful, and long-lasting, every cell of his body thrumming in time with his release. _Oh, God, this is good._ When it is over, and he has regained his sense of sight, he finds that he is lying across Ruth, still buried inside her, but his head is on his own pillow.

"God, Harry," she says once their breathing has slowed, "I was afraid you might die just then. I came again while you were finishing. That was …..."

"Good?" he says, his voice still hoarse.

"_Good_? Harry, that was the best sex I'm ever likely to experience. It was so …... it was _primal_. I felt like we were a couple of animals rutting in the jungle."

"Christ, Ruth. I thought you liked it slow and gentle."

"I do, but sometimes …... it's good to just …... _fuck_."

"Christ, Ruth, you just said `fuck'! Where's my gentle flower, the timid Ruth who used to run from me?"

"I think I left her in that cabin in Northern Ireland. Do you want her back, Harry, because that's the very same Ruth who was afraid to let herself go, and to let herself love you?"

"No, I'm quite contented with bawdy and potty-mouthed Ruth, so long as my gentle flower returns every now and again."

"Oh Harry, you just want to be the boss man."

"We both do, Ruth. What we have to figure out is when to take charge, and when it's fine to let go and trust the other."

Her silence surprises him, so he looks at her, and her face is naked with worry. "What is it?" he says, reaching a hand out towards her, and resting it on her waist, but then allowing it to slide up her body until his fingers touch her breast. He allows the tips of his fingers to caress the underside of her breast. "What's wrong?"

"Is this …... what we're doing, Harry, is it …... it's more than just a weekend thing, isn't it?"

_How does her mind come up with this stuff? And immediately after sex, as well. _ Harry rolls on to his side so that he rolls off her, and he takes his upper body weight on his elbow, while the fingers of his other hand still glide slowly over her breast. He looks at her, saddened that she had thought he might throw her aside once the weekend is over.

"What part of `I love you' don't you understand, Ruth? I want you with me always, for the rest of my life, if you can tolerate me for that long. I'm moody, obsessively tidy, demanding, often angry when I don't get my own way -"

"Harry, I'm familiar with your personality quirks. I work with you, remember? I just thought you might have been telling me you love me so that I'll stay with you for the whole weekend while you have your way with me."

"Have my _way_ with you!"

Suddenly a phone rings. The ringtone is muffled, and it takes a few moments for Ruth to recognise her own phone. "Who would be ringing me of a Saturday?" she says, as she gets out of bed, and fossicks amongst the pile of her clothes beside the bed for her phone.

"Hello?" she says, not even checking the name on the display.

"_Ruth, this is Tariq. Can I speak to Harry?"_

"You do know this is my phone, Tariq. If you want to speak to Harry, perhaps you should ring him on his phone."

"_He's turned his phone off, and then when I checked the roster, I notice you and he were both off for the weekend, so I deduced that you'd be together. It's like ... I kinda know Harry's there …... with you."_

"Alright, Tariq, that's very Sherlock Holmes of you. Here he is," and she hands the phone across the bed to Harry.

"Tariq, this had better be important," Harry begins, his voice deep and slurred and lazy, like a man who has just had very satisfying sex.

Ruth climbs back into bed, and quietly nestles against Harry's shoulder, hoping to not arouse Tariq's suspicions. Who is she kidding? Tariq knows she and Harry are together, and perhaps so do the rest of the Grid personnel. She finds that it no longer bothers her that others know about her and Harry. If they gossip about them, then what is the worst thing that can happen? Nothing, that's what.

"I'm not sure that's what it means, Tariq, but if it escalates between now and Monday morning, I want you to ring Erin, okay? Ruth and I are having a well-earned break. Yes, I'll tell her. Goodbye, Tariq."

"Problem?" she asks, after he'd ended the call, and handed the phone back to her.

"Not really. It's just Tariq panicking. He's detected an increase in banking activity between that Syrian account we targeted and the Chechnyan cell who are holed out in Birmingham. He asked me to tell you that your instinct about the Chechnyans was right. Other than that, there's nothing happening. I believe there is the _potential_ for something to happen in the future, but it won't be this weekend."

"Harry Pearce, you're sentimental as well as sexy."

"I'm in love, Ruth, and before you question that, give heed to what I just did. The old Harry Pearce would have showered, dressed, and left to go into work to monitor yet another threat to national security, no doubt dragging you along with him. _This_ Harry Pearce, the Harry Pearce who is in love with you, just delegated responsibility. Ruth, my phone is still turned off, and I asked Tariq to ring Erin should anything happen between now and Monday. To anyone other than you, I have gone dark. _That_, Ruth, is love, and that means I will still be chasing you and begging you for sex when I'm old and confined to a wheelchair."

"Sex with you in a wheelchair is fine. It might even provide a challenge, but don't expect me to push you around in one of those things."

"I'll have a motorised chair, Ruth. That way, I can chase you until I'm a hundred years old."

"Do you promise?

"Do I promise what?"

"To chase me until you're a great age."

Harry drew a cross over his bare chest with his fingers. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Okay. I believe you."

Ruth nestles against this man who has just made a pact to always be with her, content in the knowledge that, barring the unforeseen, they will grow old together. She smiles against his shoulder, imagining him in a motorised wheelchair, chasing her around the house. _I'll just run upstairs, and then what will he do? Fly? _ Perhaps growing old with Harry may not be so bad. Perhaps it will even be fun.

_Fin_

_._


End file.
